


Adventures in Random Matchmaking

by amyxiaola



Category: PLAYERUNKNOWN'S BATTLEGROUNDS (Video Game)
Genre: Conspiracy, Gen, Group dynamics, Strangers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 14:25:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13055826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyxiaola/pseuds/amyxiaola
Summary: Okay, so the Craigslist ad had been shady and way too good to be true.





	Adventures in Random Matchmaking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [merriman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/merriman/gifts).



Okay, so the Craigslist ad had been shady and way too good to be true. In hindsight, she could acknowledge that.

But let it never be said that Maxine Ellen Albright did not take risks.

"WANTED: Lonely, terminally ill bachelor seeking a live-in caretaker and companion.”

Like, that shit was something straight out of a romance novel. But well, Max was something of a romantic, and her tuition and board for the upcoming semester wasn't going to magically pay for itself, so.

Max went to the job interview.

 

* * *

 

Max opened her eyes to gray and movements in the periphery of her vision. There was a dulled whirring sound in the vicinity. Somehow the window behind her head overlooked sky and ocean. What the fuck.

"Who are you, and where the fuck are we?"

The heavyset man on Max's right startled awake, and violently exhaled spit bubbles all over Max and the redheaded woman adjacent to him.

"Dude, gross!"

This incurred Max a dirty glare from the redheaded woman, who spoke up in a voice like razorblades: "This is obviously a mistake. I've never seen you people in my life.

"What's the last thing you remember?" (Because seriously, how had they ended up in a plane in the middle of nowhere?)

"Umm, there were some weird flashing lights in the sky. And then I was floating. And then I felt needles — not the good kind. Then I woke up here," said the other man, the image of a square-looking goody two shoes. "Alien abduction, man. I knew UFOs were real, I knew it!"

Oh boy.

 

The big dude on Max's right still hadn't said a word. He seemed to be in shock.

"You good, buddy?" Square asked him. 

Max said, "Well, I mean, none of us are feeling good right now. But like, you don't need immediate medical attention or anything like that?"

Square brightened. "I just got my first-aid certification last week. I could—"

"No!" Max, Ginger and Biggie all exclaimed in unison, and Square looked almost crushed.

Biggie rubbed his forehead. "God. It was my bachelor party weekend. Fuck!"

But the rest of them couldn't write this off as crazy Vegas shit. Could they?

The group turned to Ginger, who shrugged. "Umm...I was driving...My car may have flipped and gone over the bridge?"

The group gaped at her. Ginger didn't seem all that bothered, though.

"So we're dead, and this is the afterlife," Max said. Fuck.

 

* * *

 

It quickly dawned on them that while other groups of people in the vicinity also seemed to be chatting, those conversations couldn't be heard. There was just indistinct, muffled background noise. 

"Maybe this is like a group against group thing," Max mused.

"My best man promised the ultimate immersive paintball experience," bitched Biggie. "Shoulda known the goddamn liar was bumping me outta the way to go after my girl."

"That sucks, man," Max said.

 

They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence.

 

* * *

 

_Splat! Splat! Splat!_

Objects began falling from suddenly opened compartments in the cabin ceiling. A pack of...something...landed in Max's lap.

"Are these... _parachutes_? Dude!"

Pieces of paper fluttered down and Max swiped away a sheet coming to rest upon Biggie's head.

A map. She showed it to the group. "So what do we think this is? Scavenger hunt for long lost buried treasure?"

Ginger snorted, but Square perked up. "Yeah! The group versus group thing. It makes sense, especially if it's because they're headhunting me for my talents!"

"Did the cabin suddenly de-pressurize? Cos you are talking some absolute nonsense," Biggie said. "No offense."

"Hey! I'm an asset! I'm directionally gifted," insisted Square. "I'll have you know my team placed third in our regional orienteering championships. Guys, we're not dead. We're being recruited!"

In fairness, it was as good a theory as any, but it came from Square, so—

"Yeah, no, we're dead," said Max.

 

* * *

  

The real argument began when an island came into view, and the exit ramp opened.

They watched some groups parachuted out; other groups backed up and huddled together nervously.

"We don't even know where we're going," Max protested.

Ginger scowled. "Look, they're providing these parachutes for a reason. I’m not sticking around and waiting for the plane to possibly blow up or whatever."

"I don't know how to even put this thing on," said Biggie.

 

It turned out that none of them did, except for Square, and he didn't even rub it in their faces.

A couple of minutes later, Ginger forced their hand by propelling herself off the plane.

Max exchanged panicked glances with the dudes, before the three of them followed suit.

 

* * *

  

The parachute release mechanism was such a _bitch_. (Max did not stick the landing, so to speak).

"Oh my fucking God," Max wheezed. "I swear my ribs just cracked!"

Ginger shushed her and pointed at a nearby shack. "Get inside now."

"What's going on?"

"We hiding," Biggie grunted.

"We're waiting on further evidence before we act," Square clarified.

Ginger held out a Red Bull. "Drink up," she commanded Max, who simply stared.

"It'll help your ribs," said Square. "It sounds absolutely unbelievable, but it works! My fractured wrist feels fully healed."

Max scoffed, but drank up. And holy shit, it worked. "Good god, what kind of unethical animal hormones do they put in this shit? It's a freakin' miracle potion!"

"And we need to find more of those things. Now, we explore," said Ginger.

 

* * *

 

The neighbouring shacks had assorted items just lying around on the floor.

Max peered at the ground dubiously. An energy drink, some bandages, a first aid kit. "Are these, like, booby traps? This kind of seems a bit too easy, no?" 

"Shut up. If you don't want anything, I'll take everything I can carry," said Ginger, who was already kitting herself out.

"Holy fuck, is that a gun?!" Max pointed at Biggie. "Put that down!" Max didn't know much about weaponry, but the one Biggie held looked intimidatingly deadly.

Biggie shook his head. " We might need it."

"Uhh guys, is a Level 1 or Level 3 helmet better?" Square asked, looking the most stressed Max had seen him so far. "I mean, one's obviously superior to the other, but I don't know which. If only there were a Level 2 helmet, so I could just go with that and split the difference. Maybe..."

"Take the Level 3," ordered Ginger.

"Okay," Square said, and put on the Level 3 helmet— seconds before the side window shattered and a bullet lodged into his helmet. Good god.

 

* * *

 

Biggie returned shots. Somewhere, somehow, Ginger had also found a big scary assault weapon thingy, and she joined Biggie in returning the gunfire.

"Guys, stop it!" Max shouted, covering her ears.

"Shove it! People are tryna murder us! It's kill or be killed.”

"Why does it matter, if this is the afterlife?" Max asked, after a lull. "Hmm. Well, maybe this is purgatory. Maybe—"

"Hell no, I'm not dead!" Biggie raged. "I'm surviving and getting outta this hellhole. I'm gonna kill Anthony for landing me here and creeping after my girl."

Max looked around. "Hey, where did that Square dude go?"

 

* * *

 

Square had found something even better than a Level 3 helmet.

A frying pan.

And it was confounding their assailants.

"They're trying to shoot you in the nuts," Max marvelled. And while the gunmen (and/or gunwomen, maybe? It was hard to tell even when she squinted) were focused on the infuriatingly elusive target that Square made, Ginger quietly sniped off their opponents, one by one.

 

* * *

 

Afterwards, they surrounded Ginger.

"Girl, you know too much. _Way_ too much. And you're too good at this. What the hell?" Max asked.

"You pulling an inside job on us?" Biggie accused.

Even Square looked disinclined to show mercy.

Ginger swallowed, then began babbling nervously, "Guys, I'd explain but there's no time, the circle is closing fast. I can get you off the island later but we have to get going _right now_ —"

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Max said. “Not until we’ve established you’re someone who can be trusted and not a snake—”

"Guys! We were abducted, but not by aliens! By humans," Square interrupted. His face held the awe of a man having an epiphany.

"Yes," said Ginger, who seemed pained at the concept of validating Square. She muttered something under her breath about broken clocks, but Square wasn't listening anymore, absorbed in his own little monologue:

"Human trafficking! We aren't dead and this isn't the afterlife. Some shadowy elite group with sinister motives has brought us here and dumped us all on this island. But why? And how do you know about it?...Oh, of course, you're a Fed! No...a journalist. You've had weapons training in preparation for this assignment. You're here undercover and planning to expose this whole operation. Incredibly risky and brave on your part, but once you succeed, that investigative piece will garner untold awards and make your career, so you're more than ready and willing to take those risks. Not to mention you have a strong sense of justice, I can see it in your eyes; you seemed to be a prickly person on first impression, but I think you really care about people, and it's really admirable— my name's Eric, by the way. And I, uh...um, I was actually wondering if you wanted to have a drink with me sometime, when we get off this—"

"Heart attack!" Max gasped, and next to her Biggie also staggered, clutching at his chest. "Hurts."

"Fuck," choked Ginger. "I forgot. _Circle_."


End file.
